


Resistance

by BucksFizz



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Kohn-Ma, Multi, Occupation of Bajor, Pre-Canon, Rating to go up in future chapters, Shakaar Resistance Cell, Terok Nor fic, various povs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BucksFizz/pseuds/BucksFizz
Summary: The Occupation is in its darkest days and no Bajoran is safe.





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Implied prostitution and violence.

Anybody with half a brain and any kind of common sense knew to stay away from the rundown shabby little bar on the corner of Helma Square. After nightfall the place was filled with all kinds of people considered offensive by the typical Bajoran: collaborators drowning their guilt with ale, low ranking soldiers and the prostitutes they frequented.

So it was with good reason that Tora Naprem stood shaking her head, her arms crossed, her feet planted firmly on the ground on the street opposite the infamous bar.

"Not in a million years."

"I know it's not going to look good if we're seen there but-"

"It won't look good?" she exclaimed incredulously, sticking her hands on her hips. "Biran, I can't believe you!" She lowered her voice as a couple passing them by on the street gave her a sidelong glance. Stepping closer to her companion, Naprem hissed, "You know what people are going to assume the second I walk through those doors. What the kosst are you thinking?"

Biran regarded the smaller woman for a few moments before sighing. "I need your help."

"There's a surprise."

He scratched his chin through the dark stubble. "I need you to distract the Cardassians in there. I've got a job to do… one that I don't want them seeing."

"Well now I understand why you gave me your water tokens this morning," Naprem replied, rolling her eyes. "You can forget it, not after last time."

The door to the bar opened, letting the noise and laughter spill out into the quiet square, as a small group of clearly drunken Cardassians stumbled out into the fresh air. Biran took Naprem's arm and pulled her into the shadows.

"Naprem, I know I'm asking a lot," he whispered urgently, "but this needs to happen. I'm meeting someone in there, someone who has information I need. All I need you to do is create some sort of distraction for ten minutes and then we can leave. I won't let anything happen, I promise you that."

"Oh and what exactly are you going to be able to do against a crowd of armed soldiers?" she asked scornfully, but her expression softened. She knew how much his budding resistance cell – currently consisting of him, his cousin Ma, his brother and a couple of other men from the village – meant to him and she already knew she couldn't say no. Letting out a loud sigh, she ran a hand through her blonde curls. "All right. But ten minutes and no more, understand?"

His face lit up and he nodded. "Understood."

oOoOo

Naprem lifted her mug of ale from the bar with a mutter of thanks and turned to survey the crowd. Biran had disappeared, no doubt sitting in some dark corner with his mysterious contact. The lighting was low – to suit the comfort of its reptilian patrons – and the air was hot and musty. She sighed inwardly and took a gulp from her mug. The alcohol burned the back of her throat and made her eyes water slightly, but she grit her teeth with resolve. Time to make a show.

With a deliberate swing in her hips, she set off towards the group of soldiers sitting in the centre. Planting a smile on her lips, she hurriedly rehearsed her opening line as she approached. Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips anxiously, taking another drink. Almost there, each step increased the dread building inside. She had been right before; there really was nothing Biran could do (save getting them both killed) to protect her, should things get dangerous.

Suddenly, Naprem found herself lurching violently forwards, her shoe having caught in a loose floorboard, and landing sprawled across the lap of a Bajoran man sitting close by. Immediately an uproar of laughter came from the Cardassians and she scrambled to her feet, red-faced and stuttering apologies. To his credit, the man stood and offered her his seat with a smile.

"I think you need it more than I do. Maybe slow down on the ale?" he jibed gently.

Naprem glared at him. "I'm not drunk, I tripped."

He held his hands up in a placating gesture but his smile told another story and Naprem felt herself becoming increasingly indignant. "You can keep your seat, I don't need it."

"No, you prefer to sit in strangers' laps," he replied. His companion, an older, more heavy-set man let out a bark of laughter.

"Leave her be, Shakaar, she's not interested in us. You can't afford her," he said, clearly having noticed her intended destination and come to his own conclusion – admittedly one that wasn't far from the truth but riled her temper anyway.

"You're damn right you couldn't afford me," she said, her voice heavy with disgust and this time it was Shakaar who laughed at the look on his friend's face.

"Well we won't intrude on your business," he said, moving to take the seat he had just vacated, he murmured into her ear, "And tell Kohn, the man he's meeting is a drunk. Whatever information he's passing on is probably what he dreamt last night while he was sleeping out in the alley. Stay safe."

He took his seat, leaving Naprem standing alone and unsure.

oOoOo

Biran and Naprem walked home in silence. The night air was cool and made her shiver and pull her thin jacket around her tightly.

"I can't believe that arrogant bastard," Biran muttered, breaking the quietness.

"He was trying to help," Naprem replied softly. "Was he right?"

"Of course he's right, he's always right," he said bitterly. "The old man was talking nonsense, I risked both of us for nothing. I looked like a fool."

She linked her arm through his and squeezed. "You aren't a fool. Well, not all the time anyway. You weren't to know your contact was unreliable." She paused. "How do you know Shakaar?"

Biran bristled at the name again. "It's a long story, one that I don't want to relive. Believe me when I say that he's no one worth knowing."

"Hmm," Naprem murmured.

Biran stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Naprem to stop next to him.

"What?" she whispered. He motioned her to be quiet and strained to listen to something in the distance.

"There's a patrol coming," he replied in a low voice. "We need to get off the road before they catch up to us."

Her heart started thudding in her chest and she nodded as he led her into the woods next to the dirt track. Twigs cracked loudly under their feet, making her jump, as they moved further into the cover the trees provided. Naprem could hear the voices now, getting closer to their hiding spot. Biran swore softly.

"They're tracking us," he hissed. He grabbed her hand and pulled her on. Branches whipped at her face, leaving stinging red marks across her skin and she thought she could hear crashing in the undergrowth behind them.

"Biran-" she gasped, burning pain starting in her legs as they kept running. The soldiers were gaining on them. A disruptor blast echoed loudly and Naprem let out a shriek, instinctively letting go of Biran and covering her head. There was no way they could escape… she couldn't run any faster and distance between them was growing shorter and shorter until… this time, she screamed loudly as a hand grabbed her and pulled her down. In the dark she couldn't see what was going on and she gasped for breath desperately as she tried to get to her feet, only to be pushed roughly back down again. Prophets protect us… I'm going to die.


	2. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: A little bit of violence/gore.

The dark Dahkur hills sped past the windows of the prisoner transport vehicle, fast on its way to the notorious Seclat detention centre. Crammed into the back with ten other Bajorans, Naprem struggled to keep her arms around Biran in an attempt to keep him upright as his head lolled back. He hadn't regained consciousness since the soldiers who had caught them in the woods had beaten him down to the ground. A long ugly gash marred his forehead; dark trails of blood caked his hair and face.

"Your friend is in a bad way."

Naprem turned to see a serious woman of about thirty with ragged clothes and tangled red hair observing them gravely. With tears glistening in her eyes, she nodded. 

"How long has he been out?" the woman asked, kindly.

The transport shuddered, causing them all to lurch forward. Naprem grabbed hold of Biran as his body, a dead weight, almost hid the steel plated floor. An older man next to them helped her haul him back up and she nodded to him gratefully, too exhausted to manage a proper thank you. Turning back to the woman, she replied, "I'm not sure... since they picked us up. An hour maybe? I'm worried that wherever we're going... that they'll..." She choked back a sob and her next words came out in a jumbled rush. "I don't know what's happening, I'm from Tiranu... we hardly ever see the Cardassians down there and this is all a mistake, we didn't do anything wrong! And what if they decide that he isn't fit to stay, I mean he isn't fit to work and won't make it through an interrogation, what if they take one look at him and-"

"Calm yourself, child. We're being taken to Seclat. Once we've been through processing they'll throw him into a cell to recover. The others there will look after him."

Naprem clutched Biran tightly for her own comfort as much as his safety. One of his muscled arms lay heavily over her shoulder and she leaned into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent as she tried to calm her racing thoughts and stem the rising waves of nausea. The landscape zooming toward and the past her through the windows wasn't helping.

"Is he your husband?" 

Startled by the question, Naprem shook her head. "My friend. I-I really don't feel well. I think I might-"

"Don't!" the woman urged... but it was too late. 

Naprem doubled over and violently emptied her stomach contents all over the floor, tears blurring her vision as acid burned the back of her throat. The smell was revolting and she flinched as one of the guards let out a yell of disgust. Blearily, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and straightened up, just in time to meet the swinging fist of the nearest Cardassian. It connected with a loud crunch and Naprem went down hard, the shuttle spinning around her. She turned her head and spat out a mouthful of blood - along with a couple of teeth - and let out a pained gasp. 

"Stay down there in your own filth," the soldier spat, then returned to the front.

Naprem shuddered. Along with her fading nausea, a splitting pain now radiated along her jaw and across her left cheekbone where she'd been struck. Twisting her head back, she saw the man from before had moved along and was helping to keep Biran in his seat.

"T-Thank you," she managed, her face aching with every word, her throat still burning. He gave a short nod.

"We look after our own."

What felt like hours later, the transport ground to a halt. Naprem, knees and arms aching from holding her position on the floor for so long, hesitated as the exit hatch slid open, unsure whether she was allowed to get up or not.

"What are you waiting for?" snapped the new guard, waiting outside past the hatch. Cold air blew in through the opening, making her shiver as she staggered to her feet. The guard wrinkled his nose in disgust as she limped past him, the stench of vomit and sweat clinging to her clothes. The other prisoners filed out behind her and she saw with relief that Biran had started to regain consciousness and stumbled out along with his helper. They came to a stop outside the gates as the guard input his access codes. Still shivering, Naprem slipped back a few spaces in the line so that she ended up next to Biran. He squinted through the darkness at her.

"What happened to you?" he croaked. "You stink something awful."

Naprem bit back a laugh, despite their dire circumstances, as relief flooded through her. "Just a bit of travel sickness."

"You and your weak stomach," he grunted.

The line of prisoners started moving reluctantly forward as the gates slid open, revealing the huge grey building before them. Two more armed guards were stationed outside the main entrance; but that was nothing compared to what lay in store for them inside. Naprem couldn't stop her eyes darting around, she'd never seen so many Cardassians in one place before. Tiranu was a small village on the outskirts of Dakhur Province, far from the furthest mining plant and with nothing else to offer the Cardassian overlords. As a result, most of its inhabitants were lucky enough to see maybe a dozen soldiers in year.

The air was musty and dark, the heat cranked up to almost unbearable levels.

"They're going to separate us soon," Biran whispered. "So listen closely: you haven't done anything wrong and they'll realise that pretty quickly. Neither of us have any ties to the resistance or previous criminal records, so after what's probably going to be a short and very unpleasant stay here we'll most likely end up in some labour camp for a few months. We'll be able to get away; most of them have underground operatives installed. Naprem? Naprem, I need you not to panic."

"A labour camp? People die in those all the time," she replied, her lip wobbling. "What if they send us to different places? What if they don't believe us here and they execute us?"

He grabbed her hand. "I mean it: you can't lose it, Naprem. You need to pull yourself together if you're going to get through this. They pick on any weakness they see. Now, listen and repeat after me: we're going to get out of this and get back home."

She took a deep shuddering breath. "We're going to get out of this... and get back home."

Biran gave her hand a squeeze and then dropped it as the prisoners were finally forced apart; the men pushed through a door to the right, the women led further onwards into the bowels of the centre.

_We're going to get through this and get back home, we're going to get through this and get back home..._

\----

The days passed in a confusing, miserable blur. It was dark all the time so they had no way of telling what part of the day they were in, or how long they'd been imprisoned. The cell was overcrowded; eight of them pressed together in a cell that would normally hold two. The only time they were let out was to use the communal bathrooms once a day. The first time, Naprem was too shy to strip in front of the other women and the leering guard that skulked in the corner, not even attempting to hide the bulge in the front of his trousers. After a night spent shivering in the dark in wet clothes, she gave in and stripped down with the rest of them, steadfastly looking away from the guard whose gaze she could feel burning into her.

And then, eventually, they came for her. Her cellmates had started to disappear over the previous few days: Jera first, then Malveni, then Keris, the kind woman who had tried to help her on the transport. None had returned. The same three guards marched up to the forcefield. Two of them trained their weapons on the women, as if in their half-starved and defeated state they would dare to rush them, while the glinn looked at his padd.

"Tora Naprem," he announced, looking at them with the same bored expression he always wore.

The others seemed to shrink away from her and with a pounding heart, Naprem got to her feet and walked towards the forcefield.

"Come with us, you are scheduled for interrogation."

The two lower officers frogmarched her down the corridor and finally, into the dreaded interrogation chamber.

"Try not to vomit this time," one of the guards whispered with a cruel smile, "The Gul has a special punishment for that."

As if summoned by the mention of his title, Gul Hadar stepped forward from the shadows and Naprem shuddered as his gaze swept up and down her body. He nodded to the guards and taking their signal, they began ripping off her dirty clothes, their hands lingering on her exposed flesh as their Gul looked on in disinterest. She screamed as they marked her, branding the Kardasi symbols into the skin over her heart which erupted with angry white blisters, forever marking her as a Cardassian prisoner. The noise elicited the first smile from the Gul.

The guards dragged her over to a long metal table in the centre of the dark room and pushed her down, easily restraining her as she fought the urge to vomit as the pain in her chest burned fiercely. The words rang through her head, _a special punishment for that..._

"You know why you are here." The Gul looked down at her as he spoke in accented Bajoran.

 _Because I am a Bajoran,_ she thought, but kept her lips clamped shut.

He looked down at a padd he carried in his hand. "You were detained inside the Kepla forest. What were you doing there?"

Her heart thumped wildly against her chest. What could she say? _I was running because I was out past curfew attempting to seduce your men._ "I... I was walking with my friend."

"Why did you run?" His tone was casual, almost bored, as if he had naked Bajorans strapped down in front of him every day. Which he probably did. A shiver ran through her body despite the high temperature in the room. He noticed and gave that horrible thin-lipped smile again before starting to walk slowly around the table.

"Answer the question."

"I was scared."

"What had you done that made you feel so scared?" The Gul's voice dripped with condescension now. "From what I hear, you were so scared that you vomited in the shuttle on your way here. That certainly sounds like a guilty conscience to me."

"I... nothing. We were just walking." Naprem's voice rose with desperation as she tried to twist her head round to follow him. "I haven't done anything!"

"Which terrorist cell were you attempting to meet?" His tone had returned to bored.

"None! I'm not a part of any resistance cell, I'm a teacher in the village," she blurted out.

"An excellent way of recruiting children to your cause, I'm sure," he replied.

"I told you, I have no cause, I belong to no resistance cell."

"Enough." He tossed the padd away and picked up something else. "Tell me, girl, do you know what this is?" He held the instrument up for her inspection. It was about the same length as the padd but cylindrical with three red lights at the end. Naprem's mouth went dry and she shook her head, though she could guess.

"In that case, let me show you."

He activated the device and pressed it hard into the open palm of her right hand. Before she could stop herself, Naprem let out a scream of undisguised agony. The metal was so hot she could feel it sinking through her skin as it sent shocks up and down her arm. After a minute, he relented and released the pressure. Naprem collapsed against the table, sweat beading on her forehead, as the smell of burning flesh wafted through the air. Too scared to look at the damage, she tried and failed to flex her fingers.

"Do you need a repeat demonstration?" he asked coldly.

Naprem stifled a sob and shook her head.

"Speak, girl!"

"N-No," she managed, "Please, I don't know anything."

Through the haze of pain she saw a red light on the wall blinking and the Gul sighed before disappearing from view. He was talking to someone over the com link, she realised, but the conversation was too faint for her to hear. Closing her eyes, she murmured a quick calming prayer, hoping anything would help relieve the pain that still held her entire arm in its white hot grip. Why was he so convinced she was a resistance fighter? She had no criminal record, no previous arrests, nothing that would suggest she be a part of anything like that. Except Biran. Had they broken him? As strong as he was, Naprem couldn't imagine anyone holding up under hours or even days of this kind of torture. She let out an involuntary sob. He was probably dead.

Heavy boots hitting the stone floor tore her away from self-pity and she was soon released from the restraints and hauled onto her feet where she swayed unsteadily. The Gul was gone and the two guards who had brought her in had returned. Had they decided she wasn't worth interrogating after all? Were they simply going to execute her, as they probably already had done with Biran? A bundle of cloth was shoved into her arms; she winced as it scraped over her burns.

"Put it on," one guard ordered.

Trembling, she pulled the tunic over her head and pulled it down. It stopped halfway down her thighs, by no means modest, but at least gave her the illusion of dignity.

The guards marched her through the corridors. It was a different way, she was sure of it. A cold dread ran through her body. How would she face death? she wondered. Would she hold her head high in defiance, or break down once she saw the disruptors pointing at her?

They finally stopped next to a huge set of doors and the first guard barked an order into his comm link. The doors opened slowly, revealing not the execution chamber she was expecting, but another transport ship being loaded up with her fellow prisoners. Shoved forwards roughly, she joined the end of the line of Bajorans shuffling slowly into the holding area at the back of the ship.

"Where are they taking us?" she whispered to the man next to her, who as almost skeletal and couldn't be much older than her.

"I don't know... but the rumour is they want more slave labour for Terok Nor," he answered fearfully. His eyes widened like saucers as he saw Naprem's injuries. "By the Prophets!"

Naprem forced herself to look down at her hand and felt bile rush up in her throat. A wide circle of flesh was charred and blackened in the centre of her palm, large angry blisters had risen up across the un-scorched skin and blood stained her fingers. It was obvious that it needed urgent medical attention... not that the Cardies cared, she thought darkly. If it got infected... it didn't bear thinking about.

Eventually the prisoners were all inside and the doors were sealed. There was no room to sit, everyone was packed together so tightly they could hardly breathe.

"Have you seen my friend?" she asked the man, who had introduced herself as Naru. "He's tall, dark hair, beard and-"

"With an attitude that would challenge a pagh-wraith?" Naru finished with a ghost of a smile. "He was in pretty bad shape for a while, but they sent him on a transport to the station last week."

Naprem's shoulders sagged with relief. "So he's alive?"

"Well... he was last week," Naru said with an apologetic smile.

So she would have at least one friend on Terok Nor, assuming that's where they were all headed. And of course, that was also assuming Biran hadn't gotten himself killed by now...


	3. Keep Your Friends Close

_Prophets protect my family. They must be so worried... I don't know if the Cardassians have told them anything. If not, in their eyes I went out into town one night and just didn't come back. They must think I'm dead... or worse. Protect the children: they're so innocent. I know now growing up in such an isolated area, away from their suffocating presence, is a blessing and a curse. I don't know how to act around them. Some live up to the horror stories and rumours that used to circulate the village, but others seem content to just leave us alone, treat us like real people even. I miss my students so, so much. And please, protect the-_

Naprem shrieked and jumped so violently that she fell sideways off her chair and landed with an ungraceful thump on the floor of the ghetto. She twisted, blowing the hair out of her eyes, to see who had interrupted her morning prayers so suddenly, and her jaw dropped. 

"Kohn Biran, you- you- where the HELL have you been?!" she demanded, struggling to her feet.

Biran pulled her up, eyeing her warily. Clearly this was not the welcome he had expected after their three week separation. "Prophets, I only touched your arm, Naprem. Feeling a bit skittish? And why were you sitting with your eyes closed? You're lucky no one has stolen your breakfast from right in front of you acting like that."

Glaring at him, she retook her seat and attacked her bowl of porridge. "I was praying, not that it's yours or anyone else's business."

He stood staring at her for a few moments as she continued wolfing down the cold gloopy mixture. "It's nice to see you, too."

Naprem glowered at him then rolled her eyes and stood to give him a hug. With a snort of almost laughter, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly before letting go. As the pair sat back down for the third time, Biran's brow furrowed; he'd noticed the stained bandage wrapped securely around her right hand.

"What happened to you down there?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing that probably didn't happen to you," she countered, studiously ignoring his stare. "I'm fine now. It's just taking a while to heal."

"That must be painful. And infected."

"The medic gave me something for it. I'm fine. Now, answer my question: where have you been?" Naprem asked. "It's been nearly three weeks since I arrived here and I heard you were on the transport before mine."

Biran sighed and scratched his stubbled chin. "Ore processing. I've been looking for you but the station's a big place and we're not exactly given a lot of recreational time. Which communal quarters are you in?"

She pulled a face. "Section A. It's so overcrowded that the only spot was jammed right between a wall and a grumpy old farmer from Rakantha who has the delightful habit of kicking me in the back of the legs every time I accidentally stray too close to his bed mat."

"Maybe he thinks you're trying it on with him," Biran said with a smirk. "Give the old guy a break, he's trying to defend his honour from some young Dakhur girl who isn't respecting his personal boundaries. A man can only do so much."

Naprem laughed despite her mood and flicked a bit of porridge at him. "That's awful, thanks for the mental image. Any spare mats going in yours?"

"I'm sure we can make some room," he said, with a rare genuine smile. "Which shift are you on down in the hellhole?"

"Ah," she said, raising her bandaged hand. "Turns out this old thing has come in useful: combined with my "above average" education level, I've earned a spot in the processing administration office. No manual labour for me, for a while at least."

"Good, you wouldn't last two minutes down there. I've got to get going, meet me back here after the shift is over and I'll take you back to my quarters." He paused awkwardly then gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head. "I'm happy to see you."

Naprem smiled, surprised, and squeezed his hand. "I'm happy to see you, too."

\-------

Days went by and turned into weeks. As pleased as she was to have Biran back, Naprem was bored and unhappy. She missed her old life; the time when she could feel the grass beneath her feet and the sun on her face. All the workers had a slightly grey tinge to their skin thanks to the dust and lack of natural light on the station. She was no labourer; from the age of fifteen she had been working in the school room teaching the younger children to read and write and she missed them with an ache deep in her heart. No one in the ghetto was interested in teaching their children to read. What good was literacy when every day was a struggle just to survive the soaring temperatures and random beatings? Everyone kept to themselves, wary of any stranger that struck up conversation, and she couldn't blame them, not when people were being dragged away by the Cardassians every week. 'Keep your head down, keep out of trouble' was the ghetto's mantra and one Naprem was fast to adopt.

So when the mystery woman approached her one night as she sat alone by the fence, it was something of an unwelcome surprise. The woman was something of an urban legend; nobody seemed to know who she was but she was always hanging around the fence, peering in almost as if she wanted to be there. Most turned their nose up at her whenever Naprem asked about her, dismissing the woman immediately as a collaborator.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked, her voice soft. 

_Almost as soft as her hands look,_ a little voice, sounding suspiciously like Biran whispered in her mind.

"Oh... no, go ahead," Naprem replied motioning to the empty space next to her.

She took the proffered seat on the floor and crossed her legs under her. Silence stretched on for several minutes before Naprem gave in and turned to face her.

"Who are you?" she asked bluntly. The woman raised an eyebrow and Naprem continued, "I see you around all the time but no one knows who you are."

"Something I should be thankful for, I suppose." The woman pursed her lips. "My name is Meru. I stay on the other side of the station."

"Oh." Naprem chewed her lip, pondering the implications of that statement. "Then why are you always here?"

Meru let out a small chuckle, but it was bitter and humourless. "You wouldn't understand."

Naprem regarded her for a moment then acquiesced, "No, probably not."

Again, silence fell between them, lasting until Naprem awkwardly cleared her throat and said, "I'm Tora Naprem."

Meru turned and smiled and Naprem was struck by how sincere it was. Pity washed over her. What kind of life must she be living to look that happy just to be spoken to civilly? They sat together for another hour, mostly spent in silence with the occasional bout of small talk, before Meru said she had to leave, with all the reluctance of a vedek walking into a brothel.

"I'll see you again?" she asked and Naprem nodded before she could stop herself. Meru smiled again.

"It was nice to meet you, Tora Naprem."

As the older woman turned and started walking away, Naprem felt a hand brush her shoulder and turned to look up into Biran's eyes.

"This isn't a good idea," he warned quietly.

"I think I can make my own decisions, thank you very much," she replied. He withdrew and Naprem turned to see Meru vanishing through the crowds. She hated it when Biran was right. The klaxon that signalled return to quarters began blaring and she hauled herself up, catching one last glimpse of Meru before she was swallowed up into the darkness.

Later that night, Naprem lay on her mat and wept quietly. The nights on Terok Nor always got to her, there was no noise apart from the breathing of the others sleeping and she was left alone with her thoughts. Something moved behind her, and she wiped her eyes hurriedly as Biran wrapped an arm around her.

"C'mere," Biran murmured gruffly, half asleep. "C'mon, I can hear you."

Not even bothering to hide or deny her weak moment, Naprem shuffled over and cuddled into his open arms, grateful for the friendly contact. 

"It's going to be okay. We'll get off this station soon, I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she sniffed.

\-----------

Her random trips down to the ghetto fence became almost a lifeline for Kira Meru. Trapped in her quarters for weeks on end with only Dukat or that little weasel Basso for company, she felt like she was clinging desperately onto sanity for dear life. She missed the company of other Bajorans and other women, but Dukat's solution of plucking a woman at random from the crowds of workers only made her feel worse as she was forced to spend hours in uncomfortable, accusatory silence while trying to ignore the fact that they were not there solely to be a companion for just her. She would be a fool to believe that. After all, she wasn't getting any younger. And if it helped Dukat's conscience to fool himself into believing he was doing it just for Meru's benefit, well, who was she to argue with the Prefect?

And so, two or three times a week on the pretence that she had Dukat's blessing, she would march calmly past the guards with her head held high until she came to the fences which separated her from her kin. Meru was not naive, she had fully expected the suspicious glares and the turned backs. Even with her attempts to blend in she knew she stood out from the dirty malnourished ore processing workers, nearly seven years of easy living could not be so easily hidden, but she refused to give in.

When she met Naprem, she knew there was something different about her. She reminded her a little of Luma, the flame haired woman who had befriended her back when she first arrived on Terok Nor, terrified and heartbroken. Despite what had happened later, Meru had deeply valued that short-lived friendship... ironically, in the beginning it had kept her alive. And now, when she needed someone else the Prophets had led her to this strange girl with the blonde curls and scarred hands. All Meru needed to do was keep her away from Dukat.


	4. Station Politics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: some mild medical gore, mild violence,a tiny bit of bad language, and sexual harassment.

Shakaar was nervous. The mission had been hastily planned and executed and there were no guarantees that he’d even get through the arrival checkpoints, never mind complete his extremely risky task. The transport ship had just docked and any minute now the airlock would open and the Bajorans inside would be marched through to processing. 

Lupaza had hacked into the filing system on Terok Nor from the ground and changed his records; any facial recognition software would show him as a simple farmed named Ranthan Tajal from Dakhur and he had forged records to prove it. He doubted he was infamous enough to be recognised … but if this mission went as planned then that would change.

All he needed to do was pass the security checks and then lay low for a few weeks while he assessed the layout of the station and the prefect’s routine.

And then plant the bomb. Simple.

\----------------

Having spent five minutes staring at the deep oozing wound in the centre of her hand, twisting each finger back and forward and taking her pulse and temperature, the medic - an older man with greying hair and tired eyes - finally straightened up and looked Naprem in the eye. "It's infected again."

Naprem fixed the medic with her typical sardonic glare. "No shit. Look, I can't even flex my fingers this time, you need to give me something if I'm expected to go back to work. Painkillers at least."

"If you want drugs you can always go and see Vaatrik-"

"Oh, and end up like all those idiots slumped around the ghetto, dead to the world until a Cardie sees them and decides to have some fun? No thanks," she scoffed. She'd lost count of the number of ore workers she'd seen so strung out that they'd simply passed out in the middle of the ghetto. One man had collapsed whilst serving the evening's soup ration and up-ended the entire pot, leaving the unfortunate workers who hadn't gotten their serving yet to go to bed with growling bellies. The ones who'd run out of latinum or things to trade were even worse... the withdrawal symptoms were enough to give her nightmares.

The medic held up his hands in surrender. "Just a suggestion. The infection is bad and it looks like it's spreading." He heaved a sigh and picked up a padd, one of the few Bajorans allowed such a luxury. "You're taking a trip outside the fence for this one."

"No way."

"No need to thank me."

"So you can't give me painkillers and you don't have anything to treat the infection. Remind me: what's the point of you?" she queried, glaring even more angrily as she pulled the dirty, blood-stained bandage back around her swollen hand. The Cardie side of the station was nowhere any sane Bajoran wanted to be; their infirmary doubly so. The very thought of walking out there and being totally at their mercy, with no ramifications for them if they decided to... Naprem shuddered and decided not to finish that thought.

"Look around, what's the point of any of us?" he replied, arching an eyebrow. "To be blunt: you can't work, which makes you useless. Unless you want to be among those in the next round-up, I'd report to the infirmary as soon as possible. Meaning today."

Naprem fell silent for a few moments, then looked back up at him. "You know what they do to people there."

"Urban legends." He softened and clapped her on the shoulder, making her wince as the motion shocked her injured hand. "Sorry. Listen, don't panic. They'll give you antibiotics and chuck you back here with the rest of us in minutes. All they're interested in is keeping the workforce standing so that they can meet their quotas."

She heaved a sigh. "Right. Can I take someone with me?"

"Unlikely they'll let someone else from the ghetto through the gates with you." He half-raised the padd he'd been working on. "I've put you on the list for the workers' clinic this afternoon. They'll be expecting you."

"Great, I'll rush right over."

"See that you do."

Muttering angrily under her breath, Naprem made her way back into the main section of the ghetto where Biran was waiting for her in the soup line. 

"What's the verdict?" he asked with mock gravity. "They going to amputate?"

"Probably," she said, pushing in to join him. "I'm being sent to the other side, to the Cardie doctors. So laugh while you can, Biran, as this may well be the last time we speak. Hey, come on, I'm sick," she complained, turning to the grumbling people she'd pushed in front of. "This is very well going to be my last meal. Do I have to show you the wound?"

Biran smirked but his dark eyes were troubled as Naprem turned back to him, having sufficiently silenced the others. "It's that bad?"

"Apparently. And anything that's bad enough to keep you off work duty but not bad enough to not bother treating earns you a day trip," she huffed.

The queue moved forward slowly and by the time they reached the front they only received half a bowl of cold dregs each and went to sit on a stack of boxes in a shadowy corner near the fence.

"I've heard some whisperings," Naprem murmured, looking carefully at Biran. Her friend was sporting a new scratch across his left cheek, as well as a purple tinge around his eye from an incident the week before. Combined with his growing hair and unruly beard, he was moving from "gruff with a hint of roguish charm" to "unkempt hooligan".

"Yeah?" He steadfastly ignored her gaze, blowing on the cold soup in an effort to keep up the pretense of innocence. 

"Yeah. Please don't do anything stupid." She nudged him with her foot. "I kinda need you around here. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not exactly a luxury hotel and spa."

He snorted but kept ignoring her gaze. "You're being a kiss-ass."

"If that's what you like," she said with a saucy wink, finally succeeding in catching his undivided attention. Biran smirked and swatted her leg as her expression slid into pretend innocence.

"And a tease," he grumbled.

"And you are being evasive, Kohn Biran. You forget how long I've known you."

"And you forget that we aren't those innocent eight year olds playing in the kava fields," he shot back. "I don't tell you everything anymore. There are some things that just… some things I can't tell you. Just look around, Naprem. Look where we are. This isn't a game anymore, the stakes are so much higher now."

"You can tell me anything." Naprem grabbed his hand with her good one, letting her soup bowl spill across her lap. "I mean it. You can always tell me anything. Just please promise me that you aren't involved in anything dangerous. Seclat was hell but I don't know what I'd do here without you."

Surprised by the admission, Biran squeezed her hand gently and smiled, though it didn't reach his stormy grey eyes. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

She returned the smile then looked down at her lap as she felt the sodden mixture leak through the thin fabric of her trousers and tutted, though she was secretly relieved that she didn't have to force down the disgusting gruel. "Look at the state I'm in, that was your fault."

With that, they descended into their usual bickering as only a few metres away, from the other side of the fence, Kira Meru watched apprehensively.

\-------

As second in command of Terok Nor, Glinn Horen Maral cut an imposing figure as he stalked across the upper promenade, not bothering to excuse himself as he pushed past those Bajorans who were too slow to get out of his path. The soldier was furious; a fact that did not bode well for anyone with ridges on their nose as they were the unfortunates he could take his violent rages out on... until now. That morning, Gul Dukat had summoned him into his office and berated him for his "overly harsh methods" and "brutal tactics" which he had decided were the cause of recent resistance activity on the station. He, Dukat had coldly informed him, was becoming a liability to the station's safety, and any and all punishments meted out by the Glinn now had to be run through Thrax first, who would then send a weekly report for the Prefect to study.

Maral resisted the urge to spit in disgust. The only thing causing the workers to rebel was the soft hold Dukat insisted on keeping. If Maral were in charge, things would be very different. He'd rip every irritating earring right from their flesh for starters; their damned religion with all of their fervour and chanting made his skin crawl. Take away their gods and the Bajorans would crumble, that he was sure of, yet Dukat insisted on letting them carry on with their prayers and weeping. It made his blood boil. Scanning the promenade for any potential victims, he caught sight of the Prefect's mistress, an annoying woman whose name he'd never bothered to commit to memory, hovering near the ghetto fences. His fists clenched; she was another symbol of what Maral hated the most about his superior officer. The way the man charmed the Bajoran women into his bed... he actually put work into getting them there as if they were as worthy as a Cardassian female. What Maral wanted, he took - plain and simple. If he saw a woman he wanted he didn't waste time taking her to dinner or plowing her with expensive alcohol. He took her, and, when she was no longer appealing, disposed of her. The way it should be. He was their Master, they his servants.

Turning sharply in to the Infirmary, Maral found his target and strode over to him. Terok Nor's assistant chief medical officer, Doctor Kallet, glanced up and raised an eyeridge as Maral grabbed the tricorder he was using to scan a frail elderly Bajoran man and tossed it back onto the instrument tray with a loud clatter.

"I need a drink. You're officially relieved of duty," Maral announced, his tone clearly expecting no argument. 

"As much as I appreciate the shortened shift, you'll need to wait. I've got three burns and a skin infection to deal with before we can hit the dabo tables," Kallet replied, picking his tricorder up again.

Maral scowled at his colleague, the closest person to a friend he had on the station. "You aren't serious."

"It'll only take ten minutes. If Sarat comes back and finds out he has to deal with them-" Kallet jerked his head over his shoulder to motion towards a small group of Bajorans waiting anxiously for treatment, "- then it'll be my hide. You know how much he hates treating them. He thinks it's beneath him. He's never here for the clinic."

"I can't say I blame him." Maral glared over at them. "If they're stupid enough to get burned, leave them to suffer."

"A sick workforce is not good for meeting quotas," the doctor reminded him as he began running a dermal regenerator over the nasty burn on the patient's face. The man was doing everything he could to avoid Maral's gaze which made the officer smirk and move uncomfortably close. The doctor finally finished the procedure and pushed the newly healed Bajoran from the biobed. "You're fine, back to processing." The man scrambled for the door and with a chuckle, Kallet looked at Maral. "When they'd rather run back to the ore plant than catch a break in here, you're maybe taking the intimidation tactics a tad too far."

Maral scoffed. "You sound like Dukat."

Kallet turned and motioned for the next patient to come up. "The reason for your current visit and foul mood?"

Maral nodded but his attention was immediately taken by the petite Bajoran girl who took a seat on the biobed. Rather than avoid their gaze as the others were doing, the girl watched him warily. He recognised the look; she didn't know who he was but had heard of his reputation. He let his eyes roam across her body, unfortunately hidden under her modest worker's clothing. Her clothing wasn't dirty and she didn't smell as disgusting as the others so she must be one of the admin workers. His nose wrinkled in distaste, however, as the doctor unwound the rancid bandage from her hand and exposed the dying flesh underneath and he instinctively took a step back. Despite the pain the action must have caused, Maral saw the flicker of a smirk around her lips and instantly felt the familiar rage start to bubble to the surface.

Grabbing the tricorder from Kallet for a second time, he shoved the lower ranked officer towards the waiting Bajorans at the other side of the room. "Go. I'll take care of this one."

He watched with satisfaction as any trace of laughter disappeared from her pale face. Kallet, sensing his friend's mood, left him to it. Rather her than him.

\-------

Naprem had entered the Infirmary twenty minutes earlier and taken her place in line with five other workers waiting for treatment. They were all men, mostly about the same age as her apart from the older one in front of her with a nasty plasma burn decorating half of his face and right arm. No one dared speak; everyone was too focused on getting their treatment and escaping back to the relative safety of the Bajoran side of the station as quickly as possible. She could hear a few hastily whispered prayers from behind her.

Naprem watched as those in front of her were treated and sent away and more joined the line behind her. The doctor seemed bored but not particularly hostile, she noted. It looked like the Bajoran medic had been right, tales of torture in the Cardie infirmary seemed to be frightened rumours after all. And then _he_ had stormed in.

He was tall, even by Cardassian standards, and his face long and thin, with eyes whose glare could probably melt a hole through the bulkhead behind her. She felt the tension in the room suddenly crank up several degrees and all the other workers immediately fixed their gaze on their boots. He had to be someone high up, but she was sure it wasn't Dukat; she'd seen his insipid smiling face on the announcement screens. Naprem watched with a sense of foreboding as the old man with the plasma burns was treated and sent on his way. They made eye contact as he passed her on the way to the exit; Naprem could tell just from that anxious gaze that she was in trouble.

The soldier was still standing by the biobed as she hesitantly approached and sat down. The last time she'd been this close to two Cardassian soldiers had not gone well for her and she fought to control her breathing.

"It's my hand," she said to the doctor, pleased that her voice wasn't as shaky as she felt. The other Cardassian was mentally undressing her, making control of her stomach contents another thing to concentrate on. "The medic says it's a bad infection."

"Does he." The doctor raised her hand and began taking off the dressing, revealing the deep ulcerated wound decorating her palm. The soldier recoiled and she couldn't help but smile. Perhaps she should refuse treatment, it was certainly an effective spoonhead repellent. She realised too late that she'd let the smile slip onto her face and immediately her heart began racing as he sent the doctor away. As soon as no one else was within earshot, he took hold of her hand and yanked her forward so that he was speaking directly into her ear. Naprem gasped in surprise and pain and bit her lip to stop the tears welling up as he squeezed her injured extremity.

"I can always spot one of your kind," he hissed into her ear, holding her tightly as she squirmed against his grip. "An entitled Bajoran bitch who hasn't learned her place on this station yet. Believe me, my girl, I am going to teach you that lesson, painfully and clearly. Do you know who I am?"

"N-No, sir, I-I haven't been here long," she replied, tearfully. She let out another yelp of pain as he twisted her hand back against the bed.

"My name is Glinn Maral," he said, smiling coldly as the first tears started to fall from her eyes. "A name you're going to become intimately familiar with."

Naprem gasped in horror and revulsion as his free hand cupped her right breast and then suddenly squeezed hard. "Please..."

A voice from over his shoulder caused Maral to draw away slightly; if Naprem were able to control her breathing she would have sighed in relief as his hand fell away.

"Right, I'm finished. Let's go for that drink."

The doctor had come back and was steadfastly now avoiding her pleading gaze. "Come on, you can play with her later. It's not like she's going anywhere."

Maral smirked and released Naprem. "Quite. I'll be watching out for you, my dear."

With that last threat, he turned and left the infirmary with the doctor. Naprem lifted a trembling hand and covered her eyes as another medic came to finally treat her infection. Terok Nor had just gotten a whole lot more dangerous.

\-------

Later, with her hand finally treated but still bearing a noticeably ugly scar, Naprem made her way shakily back to the Bajoran side of the station. Just as she was approaching the fence, she sensed someone slip in behind her and turned to see Kira Meru falling into step with her. The woman, who despite their semi frequent talks was still something of a mystery, was not a welcome presence in Naprem's current condition.

"Sorry... I'm not really in the mood to talk now," Naprem said, trying to keep the nerves from her voice. She couldn't stop picturing Maral's leering face, his breath on her neck, his rough bony fingers pinching into her breast. She shook her head suddenly, as if to physically dislodge the thoughts from her brain.

"I need to talk to you about something," the older woman started, looking urgent. 

Naprem glared at her. "It can wait."

Meru picked up her pace, almost breaking into a trot to keep up with the upset Naprem as they passed through the fence perimeter and into the ghetto. "No, I don't think it can."

Naprem stopped and started scanning the crowds for Biran. "I don't want to hear it. In fact," she turned back to the brunette, hands on hips, brow knitted in a stubborn frown, "I don't think I particularly want to hear anything you have to say."

Meru recoiled. "If I've done something to offend you-"

"Not just me," Naprem scoffed. All the pain, fear and exhaustion of the day was churning inside her and reaching boiling point; Kira Meru was going to be the unfortunate target. "The rumours are right, aren't they? You're a comfort woman. Why would I want to talk to someone who willingly lies on her back for a Cardassian? I hope the benefits are good. Personally, I'd rather keep my dignity."

"You have no right to talk to me like that," Meru argued fiercely, her blue eyes flashing with anger. "You have no idea what my life is like. I only came here to warn you, because I thought you were my friend."

"Well, you thought wrong."

"Obviously!" she retorted. Meru turned on her heel, ready to march out back to where she'd come from, but faltered in her tracks. The gate was closed and locked, the guard gone. A low droning klaxon began sounding and, argument very briefly forgotten, she turned back to Naprem, who sighed and ran her hand through her blonde curls frustratedly.

"It's curfew, I need to go," she muttered as the alarm died down. The other workers were starting to move towards the south corridor and Meru looked suddenly anxious.

"I can't get back through... where's the guard?"

Naprem looked over and shrugged. "Maybe gone. They don't bother guarding the gate after curfew, they just lock us in like farm animals for the night."

"But... I can't stay here, someone will recognise me."

"Oh for the Prophets... come here." Naprem pulled Meru's hair gently out of its styled braid and ruffled it to make her look more dishevelled. Spotting a nearby pile of disused cargo crates, she wiped her hand over the dirt adorning them then dabbed Meru's face and clothes. "Much better. Look, you can bunk in with me and my friend tonight and then they'll let you out in the morning. No one has the energy to pick a fight even if-"

A nearby disturbance interrupted Naprem's sentence. Yells and shouts, growing louder as they approached, drifted over to the women, followed by the sound of a scuffle. Naprem slapped her hand to her forehead and groaned loudly. She recognised that voice. Beside her, Meru started ripping the sleeves from her tunic, following Naprem's lead a little too enthusiastically. "Will this do?"

Naprem closed her eyes and began massaging her temples, counting down from ten as she heard the fight move closer, Meru grow more and more nude, and the ever present threatening hiss of Glinn Maral echo through her thoughts.

 _Three..._

A punch landed. A deeper man's voice let out a curse. More fabric ripping.

_Two..._

The familiar voice hollered some blasphemous obscenity. A child started crying. What sounded like a shoe flew across the room and landed with a dull thud.

_One..._

_I'll be watching out for you, my dear..._

Naprem's eyes flashed open and she clenched her fists as the brawling men fell to the floor a mere two feet from where she was standing. "Kohn Biran, get up from the floor THIS INSTANT! And YOU!" She turned to a startled Meru. "Put your damned shoes back on!"

Biran blinked up at her from the ground, sporting more fresh bruises and cuts across his cheek. A few silent seconds went by until his own indignation kicked in. "Don't tell me what to do!"

Ignoring him, Naprem's gaze flicked to the man who currently had her best friend in a headlock and she felt a spark of recognition. "And you - Shakaar, isn't it - let go of my idiot!"

"Hey!" Biran protested, shrugging off Shakaar's slackened grip. Both men got to their feet stiffly and the latter eyed Naprem with a steely glare.

"I don't know who you think I am, but you are incorrect," he said coldly.

"You aren't," Biran added sourly.

Seeing the two men were about to square up to each other again, Naprem physically got between them and stopped them with a hand on their chests. "Look," she said, lowering her voice. "I don't know what your bad blood is all about, but it's already got me into enough trouble for one lifetime so please just _stop it_."

With a deep breath in, she calmed herself then turned to the receding line of workers heading to the communal quarters. "I need sleep."

That night, Shakaar Edon, Kohn Biran and Kira Meru lay squashed together over three bed mats on the floor of the now desperately overcrowded room and all stared up at the dark ceiling in angry silence, too stubborn to share their fears with the other, and unaware that this was the moment the sleeping blonde woman lying in the middle of the unlikely group would change all of their lives forever.


	5. It Never Rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Lots of violence with sexual connotations/references to sexual assault. General darkness and emotional torment abound.
> 
> Apologies to anyone who read the first version of this chapter that I posted at the end of March: I decided to slightly change the end of it as it didn't quite fit with the direction I wanted the story to go in.

The next few days in the Bajoran sector passed fairly uneventfully: Shakaar, or 'Ranthan' as he insisted, had been forced into another communal section after another fight with Biran had to be broken up by the other men in section A; Meru had returned to wherever it was that she came from. Naprem slept fitfully, now because of the ever-looming threat of Glinn Maral than because of the cramped and overheated conditions. Her fatigue was beginning to show obviously on her face; she looked worse than some of the processing workers.

As they sat down to a quick breakfast one morning, Biran surveyed her with concern lining his face. Naprem was fading. It was a common occurrence on Terok Nor: Bajorans ended up here, voluntarily or otherwise, and couldn't adapt. It was too hot, too dusty, too dark, too far away from home, too terrifying. So, they began to 'fade'; their appetites stopped so they grew thin and gaunt, their energy levels dropped so they spent more time sleeping than anything else, and usually had earned a few bruises from their Cardassian overseers for poor work. The light was gone from their eyes… their pagh was dim. They usually didn't last very long.

"Stop it," Naprem said, taking a sip of her lukewarm water. "You keep staring at me and I know what you're thinking."

"I'm worried about you," he said, bluntly. They had known each other too long to beat around the bush, especially when it was important. "You don't look well."

She glowered at him and made to rise before Biran leaned across the table and grabbed her arm, forcing her back into her seat.

"Stop it!" she hissed, her eyes flashing angrily as she tried to pull away from him. "You aren't my father, Biran, you don't have to look after me!"

"I know I don't "have" to," he shot back, not letting go of her arm. "I'm trying to help you! Just… let me!"

Naprem wrenched her arm out of his grip and stormed off; Biran was not far behind, his chair tipped over as he leapt up and chased after her.

"No, I am not letting you walk away from this!" he snarled and pulled her back round to face him. Spying an empty corner, he pulled her towards it, ignoring her angry protests and the stares of the other Bajorans around them. Pushing her up against the wall, he pinned her loosely against it; firmly enough to stop her but not enough to hurt her.

"Get away from me!" she exploded, shoving into his chest in a futile attempt to move him out of her path. "What gives you the right to interfere and bully-"

"I am not moving from this spot until you tell me what the hell is going on with you," Biran demanded. He grabbed her hands and pushed her further back against the wall. Naprem still struggled against him but he held firm. Her eyes were starting to fill with angry tears and she couldn't wipe them away.

"I'm weak," she whispered, finally giving in and relaxing against the wall behind her.

Biran slackened his grip and exhaled loudly. "You're hurt. It isn't the same thing."

"Every day, I sit in that office and go through the daily reports from ore processing," she said, her voice wobbling. "I see the casualty lists. I see all their names. And it doesn't mean anything to the Cardassians. We aren't even people to them, Biran. We're not … we're not even animals. We're just toys that they pick up and use when they want, and discard when they want. This isn't a life."

Biran wiped his sleeve across her cheek to dry her tears, but only succeeded in leaving a dirty smudge across her pale skin.

"Maybe you should talk to Prylar-"

"What's the point?" she asked bleakly. "I pray to the Prophets every day about those lists. They never get any smaller."

Biran didn't know how to respond and so they just stood there, looking at each other, not speaking. They were still pressed together against the wall. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but she stopped him. The work klaxon had started wailing minutes ago, but the couple didn't move. Biran's heart started thumping in his chest. Her arms moved, hesitantly, up to wrap around his neck. He knew this was it, this was the moment he'd been waiting for since… well, since he'd known her. He moved towards her, her lips mere centimetres from his, and then he stopped and pulled away.

"I can't," he whispered, pulling her arms gently down.

She pulled back, stung. "I thought…"

"Naprem, I can't," he repeated, forcing himself to take a step back. He couldn't risk it. He was the reason she was here. Plans were in motion. If he was caught again and she was associated with him, he would be responsible for her execution.

She looked away from him and smoothed down her tunic. "Okay. I should get to work."

"Okay," he muttered. He watched as she walked away, then turned and slammed his fist into the wall, biting back a yell of anger and agony.

*****

Gul Dukat was in a foul mood. His console beeped at him every few minutes, more casualty reports were coming in from the latest terrorist attack down on the surface. Seventeen soldiers so far had been declared dead after a resistance group in Lonar Province had attacked a troop transport; the number was expected to rise thanks to the difficulty in retrieving the injured from the wreckage.

On top of his many work issues, his wife was demanding another visit back home. It had been three years since their youngest had been born, far too long in Athra's humble opinion, for them to wait for another child. He knew it was all an excuse. His visits to Cardassia had been rare since he had been posted to Bajor, he now only returned home perhaps two or three times a year to see his family and address Central Command. It's not that he wasn't a loving father, no, just that he knew he was needed more here, on Terok Nor. The Occupation was at a crucial stage and he knew there were already rumblings back home about bringing it to an end.

And then there was Meru. His once faithful and loving mistress had been conspicuously absent from his bed for the last couple of weeks. He indulged her little habit of venturing onto the Bajoran side of the station from time to time; despite the possible dangers, he knew she needed to spend time among her own people. But lately, the visits were growing more and more frequent, and she had even spent the night there. If she was spending time with certain people, that did not bode well for him. No Bajoran in the ghettos of Terok Nor would befriend the mistress of the Prefect; Kira Meru had either taken another lover or she was meeting with the resistance. Either way, she would have to be dealt with. And soon.

The door chime brought him out of his gloomy reverie and he barked, "Enter!"

Glinn Maral, his current second in command of the station, strode in and stopped behind the chair on the other side of the desk.

"You wanted to see me, sir," the younger officer said stiffly, resting his hands on the back of the chair.

"Yes," Dukat replied, his tone equally cold. "It's about these casualty reports."

"They're still assessing the situation," Maral answered. "The Bajorans that attacked the transport have taken control of the area and your… delicate tactics are slowing the rescue effort somewhat."

"I have already explained, Maral," Dukat snapped, "We have to treat this cautiously to avoid a full scale uprising which will result in more deaths and massive unrest across the province."

"Cardassians have died, sir!" Maral snarled, gripping the chair so tightly that his knuckled turned white. "We should be striking them with everything that we have! These Bajorans," he spat, "need to be taught a lesson, once and for all. I have submitted my own report to Central Command with my opinion on how we should deal with this situation."

Dukat rose from his chair and slowly stalked around the desk to stand toe-to-toe with his subordinate. "You overstep your rank, Maral."

"And you are not stepping far enough," he countered, not balking at all over Dukat's invasion of his personal space. "These resistance fighters are no more than field hands, running to the hills with any makeshift weapon they can get their hands on. With a targeted campaign we could wipe them out easily."

"The targeted campaign that you keep suggesting has already proven to have failed when tested in Dakhur Province," Dukat hissed, "Your tactics are flawed and you are out of line."

The door chime broke the tense staring contest and Dukat glared at Maral one last time before slowly making his way back around the desk to his chair. "Come!"

The portly figure of Basso Tromac, one of his collaborators-in-chief, entered the office and seemed to hesitate when he realised Dukat already had company.

"What is it, Basso?" Dukat asked, not attempting to keep the irritation from his tone.

"Some of the information that you asked for, Prefect," Basso replied, handing him the padd he'd been clutching in his sweaty hands.

Dukat activated it, realised the subject and turned to Maral. "Go down to the administration sector. Daren is on leave, you will cover for him until this situation is resolved."

Maral swelled indignantly. "With all due respect, I think the planetside situation requires my attention more than-"

"I have given you an order!" Dukat snapped, "Dismissed."

The younger man, barely concealing his look of contempt, turned for the door then smiled. "Sir? Legate Kell will be arriving at airlock three within the hour for his annual inspection. Would you like me to meet with him? As you're so…" He paused, looking at Basso with undisguised disgust, "busy?"

Dukat cursed inwardly; he'd completely forgotten about Kell's visit. No doubt the latest unrest would be used against him by Kell as well. That was all he needed: his disobedient second in command colluding with his disapproving superior officer. He waved the officer out irritably. "I will meet with him."

Maral gave a mock solute and marched back out into Ops. Dukat looked to Basso.

"You're sure the information on this padd is correct?" he asked, sharply.

"It's a preliminary report, sir, I'm still not completely-"

"Who is this Tora girl?" Dukat demanded, scrolling through the very short record. "Why is Meru seeing so much of her?"

"Unfortunately, there isn't much to go on," Basso replied, "She's from a rural area, as a result not much has been recorded of her activities. All we know is that she was arrested for breaking curfew and interrogated at Seclat before being transported here as part of the newest worker detail."

"Seclat," Dukat mused, gazing at the holo-image of the young woman. "And the result of the interrogation showed no resistance activity."

"I contacted the centre myself, sir. Gul Hadar is confident that it was merely a curfew violation."

"Gul Hadar does not have a reputation for being particularly thorough," Dukat said, a small frown creasing his brow.

"Would you like me to have her brought in for further questioning?" Basso asked.

Dukat pondered the padd for a few moments. "No, I don't think so. But keep observing, Basso. I want to know if anything suspicious happens, anything at all. Have one of your contacts in the Bajoran sector watching her at all times."

As Basso left, Dukat sat back in his chair and continued his inspection of Tora Naprem's short file. Perhaps Meru really had just found a companion: the two women were from the same province and spoke the same dialect. But, Tiranu... he mused. In his experience, the Bajorans from the rural areas without much Cardassian presence did not adapt well to life onboard Terok Nor. Most of them had lived relatively sheltered lives, eking out a simple living on the farmlands. The area had nothing to offer Cardassia, so there was no point wasting manpower on stationing a garrison there if the residents remained civil. As a result, the Bajorans reacted to the Cardassian presence on the station in one of two ways: fear or confusion.

But this Tora, she was a little different. She was educated, educated enough to escape ore processing, although her file also noted that an injury she had suffered at Seclat had contributed to this posting. Dukat thought back to seven years earlier when he had first met Kira Meru, who had been so self-conscious about that scar on her face. Another bonding point, perhaps...

Well, in any case, he thought with a flash of anticipation, he would have the opportunity to observe her in person later that day when he took Kell on the customary tour of the processing facilities. He dropped the padd back on his desk with a sigh. Now, how to deal with his first officer?

*****

Naprem rushed through the corridors as fast as she dared. She was running late as a result of her confrontation with Biran, the last thing she needed now was to run into a Cardassian and be stopped for "suspicious" activity.

Finally, she rounded the last corner and her heart sank. The security forcefield was already up, the blue static shimmering over the empty doorway, the usual two guards posted on the other side. As was customary now thanks to increased resistance attacks, the field was raised for the protection of the administration workers, Bajoran and Cardassian, as soon as the working day was started.

Naprem approached with trepidation. "Umm… excuse me?"

"Stay where you are," the first guard snapped. "Identification?"

"I…" Naprem paused, her mind blank, her mouth dry. Her identification number was permanently branded into the skin above her right breast. She wasn't likely to forget it anytime soon. But the memories of the interrogation centre, the hands that moved across her body, the hot metal burning through layers of her flesh, all flashed through her mind as she tried to utter the code, her stomach churning, bile rushing to her throat.

"Wait, I know her," the other guard said, squinting at her. "She's one of Koren's new assistants."

"You're certain?"

The second guard ignored the question and lowered the force field. "You're late. Report to the overseer."

Trying to pull herself together, Naprem nodded dumbly and stepped over the threshold. As she dragged her feet towards the set of stairs that led up to Glinn Daren's office, she heard the first guard chuckle and call after her, "You picked the wrong day to be late, girl."

She turned back to look at their sneering faces and the second guard ushered her towards the stairs.

"Go. The longer you wait, the worse it will be."

What did they mean? As far as she had seen in her time working here, Daren had not been particularly strict. She felt her hands shake as she reached to press the door chime.

"Enter!"

Naprem felt the world fall away from beneath her as she stood in the doorway, unable to tear her eyes away from the man who had graced her nightmares.

*****

Maral, who so far had been having an extremely boring morning, looked up from the padd he had absent-mindedly been scrolling through on the preliminary workers numbers quota. A surge of delight shot through him as a young Bajoran female stepped into the office. It was the girl from the infirmary, the one he'd been waiting to approach again.

He let out a low chuckle and tossed the padds onto Daren's desk carelessly. "Well, well."

She stood, statue-still, her mouth slightly open in fear. Moments passed in tense silence. Maral raised an eye ridge, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth as he continued staring straight into her eyes.

"Do you have something to tell me, girl?" he asked.

Still, she said nothing.

Maral sighed, this was starting to get a little boring. Standing up, he walked around the desk and sat on the edge, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Are you here to report something to me? No?" His eyes lit up. He had barely acknowledged the alert that signified the lowering of the forcefield at the front office. She must have been a late arrival. How delightful, the day was shaping up much better than he could have hoped for after his meeting with Dukat. The reminder that he had been ordered to pass any of his punishments through the chief of security fleetingly passed his mind, and he just as quickly brushed it off. Once Central Command read his report of the situation on Bajor, Dukat's days would be numbered. He could risk having some fun.

"Are you here for punishment?" he asked softly.

The sharp intake of breath was all the answer he needed from her.

"Come here," he ordered, straightening up. "Stand beside the desk."

Naprem almost couldn't breathe. Adrenaline was surging through her blood, her survival instincts at odds with each other. Her mind was screaming at her to run, to put as much space between her and this cruel predator as possible; the more rational side was telling her to go to him, not to make her situation any worse with a futile escape attempt. Slowly, she walked towards the desk.

Maral looked down at her, as if deciding what to do. "I believe current regulations state that bad timekeeping be punished with a docking of rations." He was standing almost toe-to-toe with her now, backing her up against the desk until she could move no further without falling back across it. The thought that she had been in this position with Biran less than an hour earlier made tears spring to her eyes. She gulped them down.

"But that's a little boring, wouldn't you say? I'm sure we can come up with something… more creative."

His long, thin fingers were playing with the belt she wore around the waist of her tunic.

"Pl-Please, please don't," she stuttered, her breath coming in huge panicked gulps as he worked to unfasten it.

"Please don't what?" Maral asked, sliding the belt from around her waist. He studied her face as he slipped his hands underneath the hem of her tunic, searching for the fastening for her trousers. "Are you asking not to be punished?"

As he started sliding her trousers down over her hips, Naprem finally reacted and grabbed them, twisting away from his sickening grip. It wasn't much use, he had her pressed so tightly against the desk that she could hardly move.

"Move your hands," Maral ordered simply.

"N-No."

He looked down at her, with what seemed to be a mix of surprise and incredulity. With another one of those hair-raisingly cold chuckles, he put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up so that she was looking him in the eye. "Move your hands or I will break them and move them for you."

She hesitated for just one moment, but it was enough for him to suddenly grab her by the back of the neck and slam her face first into the desk. She let out a stifled cry of pain, with the impact she had accidentally bit down hard on her tongue and her mouth tasted of blood. Her forehead had made contact so forcefully that she saw stars and she lay there, momentarily stunned into submission. Dimly, she was aware that he was tugging at her clothes.

A second later, a searing pain lit up across her backside and she let out a surprised cry. Again and again Maral brought the belt down savagely across her bare skin, leaving angry red welts in its path.

Lie still. Lie still, he'll get bored. He'll stop.

Naprem buried her sore head into her arms to try and muffle her cries as each lash landed with a burning fire. She'd seen her brother and mother go through this countless times as a child; she knew the routine. Maral would work out his anger, or simply get too tired to continue, and stop.

Oh Prophets, please, let it stop.

Maral could feel his arm start to ache but he had no intentions of stopping the whipping. This was just what this day had needed and he smiled grimly to himself. The girl was taking the punishment well; the last Bajoran he'd used this particular punishment on had screamed so loudly that he'd simply got tired of the noise and knocked her out before she could give him a headache.

Finally after another five minutes, his arm went past pain into numb and he lowered the belt.

"Get up," he ordered.

She slowly straightened up, shaking badly. Maral surveyed the damage he'd done and tutted, running a hand over the raised welts that decorated her skin.

"That looks painful," he said, then slapped her ass. She almost fell back onto the desk, catching herself at the last moment on her arms. He chuckled. "Turn around."

Again very slowly, she shuffled around to face him, tugging her tunic down to cover her modesty. Maral cupped her face in his hand and bent down so that they were eye-to-eye.

"Do you have something to say to me?" he asked softly.

Her face was red and damp, tears still pricking on her eyelashes. Thin trickles of blood had escaped from the corner of her mouth and he wiped them away with his thumb.

"An apology, perhaps? For interrupting my morning with your poor behaviour?" He sighed as she remained silent. He could feel her trembling. "Or maybe a thank you?"

She looked up at him, a tiny spark of defiance still shining in her eyes. "A thank you?"

Maral tightened his grip on her jaw and she winced. "My, my, we're still in need of some lessons in manners, aren't we? I want you to thank me for taking the time and effort to punish you today."

Naprem held his gaze for just a moment then bit out, "I'm sorry for my lateness, sir. Thank you for punishing me."

"Good girl." He released his hold and took a step back, surveying her dishevelled appearance with satisfaction. "Now, get dressed and go back to work."

She hurriedly pulled her clothes back into place.

"I'll be keeping this," he said, holding up her belt, "for our next lesson."

Naprem scurried for the door as fast as her painful, trembling legs would carry her, desperate to put as much space between her and her tormentor as possible.

*****

By the time he had shown Legate Kell down through ore processing, answered his excessive questions and put up with his snide remarks, Dukat was in a thoroughly bad temper, not helped by the simpering of his Bajoran aide who was so far only succeeding in getting in the way and giving another reason for Kell's scathing comments. The situation on the surface showed no signs of improvement and Kell was unhappy with his decision to assign Maral to the administrative sector when he could be "put to better use". It was common knowledge that Maral's father and Kell were old school friends and, Dukat thought with gritted teeth, Kell was making no attempt to be discrete about his expectations on Terok Nor for the younger officer. Disciplining him was going to be difficult.

The guards at the entrance saluted and let down the forcefield, allowing Dukat, Kell and Basso to step into the processing centre. At once, a hush fell over the large room as the two commanding officers walked among the work stations.

Dukat took the stairs with trepidation, knowing that a confrontation between the three of them was inevitable, and that he was unlikely to come out on top. He thought of going home to his quarters with longing: a good meal, a bottle of kanar, and some time alone with Meru was exactly what he needed to-

"Oh!"

As he had stepped up to the doors to Maral's temporary office, they had opened just before he could have triggered the sensor and a Bajoran woman rushed out without looking, banging straight into his chest and knocking the wind out of him. Dukat staggered back and instinctively reached out to catch her as she stumbled with him.

"I'm sorry, sir," she gasped as they straightened up. She shrank away from his helping hand and he let it fall to his side. He recognised this girl, although she was looking significantly worse for wear than her file photo. Blood was smeared around her lips and her otherwise striking eyes were swollen and bruised.

"What happened here?" he asked, holding her face gently.

"I..." she trailed off, her eyes darting back towards the door. She shrank back even further as Legate Kell finally reached the top of the stairs, his face like thunder.

Dukat's mood darkened even further. Maral had clearly ignored his direct order to pass all punishments through Thrax and this was the last straw as far as Dukat was concerned. Terok Nor was his station and he would have control, Kell be damned.

"Basso!" he snapped. The aide, as always, appeared instantly at his side. "Take this woman to my quarters and make sure she's looked after."

Naprem's eyes widened in horror and Kell let out an incredulous snort.

"Is this really the time to be thinking of your libido, Dukat?" he drawled as Basso quickly ushered the young woman down towards the exit. "We do have some pressing matters at hand."

"We certainly do," Dukat said grimly. "I'm putting Glinn Maral on insubordination charges. I want him off my station. Immediately."


End file.
